


Small steps.

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling relationship centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garlan’s always known Will better than he knows himself - what’s a twin for if not to maintain a freaky level of knowledge about you? - but, since they came home from Iraq, things have been different.</p><p>They’ve both been seeing the shrink, like they were told to, but while it’s been working for Garlan (he has nightmares, but he can handle those without drinking himself into a coma every night now), for Will…</p><p>Not so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small steps.

**Author's Note:**

> I shit you not - this originated in a dream during my first non-medically assisted sleep in months.
> 
> Willas and Garlan are twins, modern AU, etc etc. Pretty self explanatory.
> 
> The Garlan/Leonette and Sansa/Willas are background - this is a story about Garlan and Willas, so there is no smooching, m'afraid.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Garlan’s always known Will better than he knows himself - what’s a twin for if not to maintain a freaky level of knowledge about you? - but, since they came home from Iraq, things have been different.

They’ve both been seeing the shrink, like they were told to, but while it’s been working for Garlan (he has nightmares, but he can handle those without drinking himself into a coma every night now), for Will…

Not so much. 

Then again, Garlan wasn’t the only survivor of an attack which killed pretty much every friend they’ve ever had since they were kids. He was on the other side of the country when the bomb hit, but Will was right in the middle of it and saw just about everyone they’ve known most of their lives die in a terrible fire that had wiped out most of the camp.

Marg and Loras have their friends over - Sansa and Cella and Shireen, Renly and Jon and Egg - and they’re all out at the pool. They’ve been here for almost a month, all of them, because Mum and Dad opted not to come to Italy for the summer for the first time ever.

Garlan has Leonette, she came over two weeks ago with Will, who had to stay back for physio and stuff, but Will has no one. He’s always been quiet, even shy (when Marg had all that trouble with Cella’s brother and Will went nuclear on him, Loras had started calling Will Darcy, like from Pride and Prejudice, because so many people think he’s stuck up or snobby - he’s not, he really is just that quiet and awkward), but it hurts Garlan to see his brother so alone.

He sits down beside Leonette in the shade of one of the enormous parasols (Mum orders new every other year, and he and Will were away last year so this is the first he’s seen of the bright green paisley) and glances back towards the house, wondering if today, the thirteenth day of their stay, will be the day that Will actually sits with them by the pool. He’s gone cycling most days, alone or with Loras, who’s surprisingly happy to abandon his friends to keep Will company.

Things are looking good - Leonette nudges Garlan’s thigh with her foot and nods back towards the house, and there’s Will, pottering awkwardly about the kitchen on his crutch, wearing a loose old shirt buttoned crooked and, when he passes by the French doors, bright yellow board shorts.

It’s looking really, really good, in fact, because Will’s making his special lemonade, if the amount of ice he took from the freezer is any indication, and there are two big jugs filled almost all the way with the bright pink concoction sitting on the counter when Garlan gets up to offer Will a hand, pausing only to kiss the top of Leonette’s head and stretch out his stiff shoulder (minor shrapnel wound, but he’ll be back full operational by the new year).

But then the boys pick up the girls and there’s a lot of screaming and shrieking and a big, booming splash, and the big glass jug of pink lemonade that Garlan isn’t carrying smashes on the patio slabs and Will starts hyperventilating.

Leonette is ready, takes the jug from Garlan so he can grab Will by the shoulders and try to bring him back, but when Will does eventually turn to look Garlan in the eye instead of staring, blank and panicky, at the pool, where the others have fallen silent and look really, really uncomfortable, he’s not sure his brother is actually seeing him.

“I- I’ll clean this up and make another jug,” Will says, and Garlan realises that they’re the first words he’s heard Will say in three days. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Leonette assures him, and Garlan’s sure anyone else would be hurt at the way Will flinches away from Leonette’s hand. “I’ll clean up - do you want to go back in and make another batch of lemonade?”

Will nods jerkily and turns as sharply as he can on one leg and a crutch, and he hobbles back into the kitchen - and keeps going, disappearing deep into the house, and it’s ten minutes (the time it takes him to get up the stairs when he’s not wearing his prosthetic, because the stairs are massive and his and Garlan’s bedrooms are right up under the roof so there are two and a half flights to climb) before they all wince at the sound of something being smashed.

 

* * *

 

When Garlan gets up the next morning, there are three fresh jugs of pink lemonade in the fridge and Will’s already gone out on his bike. He’s brought food and a half dozen bottles of water with him, so Garlan knows where to look if he doesn’t come back before it gets dark (away from town, from people), but that doesn’t stop him worrying.

“Isolating himself like this isn’t good,” he sighs to Loras, who shrugs unhappily.

“I know, but would forcing him to talk be any better?”

 

* * *

 

It’s another week before Will makes a second attempt at making it out to the pool. This time his shorts are the most disgusting shade of pink Garlan’s ever seen (he has the same ones upstairs), and he’s wearing an old Stones t-shirt of Loras’ with the sleeves cut out. Six months ago it wouldn’t have fit him, but since coming home Will’s lost a lot of his bulk - he’s still fit, because his physiotherapist works him like a dog, but where he was the same sort of bulging I’m-in-the-army-you-know muscular as Garlan before, he’s more Loras’ competitive swimmer build now.

He’s got his sunglasses, ridiculous purple-framed Wayfarers that Marg brought home from her first professional job, firmly in place, and he sits as far from the rest of them as possible without it being rude before (gods, he’s so nervous of it) taking off his sunglasses and pulling off his t-shirt and reaching for the sunscreen (factor-50, of course).

His scars aren’t near as bad as he seems to think - this is the first time Garlan’s seen them since the surgery, because Will’s been so damned cagey about them, and really, they’re not that bad. The skin grafts are still pretty pink, okay, but the worst of the burns are low down on his back and his shorts are long enough to hide the end of his leg.

“Stop staring,” he says quietly, and Garlan looks away, embarrassed. “Could you give me a hand with my back?”

Garlan does, and then Will lies on his front and opens his book (Narnia, fucking Narnia, he’s really terrified is he’s reading his safety blanket book) and resolutely does not engage with anyone but Garlan and Loras for the rest of the day, except to ask who wants what when he goes in to make dinner.

Loras goes with him, because they all know how much Will hates using the oven.

 

* * *

 

By the end of the week, Will’s making quiet conversation with Jon and Sansa, both of whom were originally Loras’ friends but upon whom Marg jumped (boyfriend and best friend). They’re half-siblings, Jon from their dad’s first marriage and Sansa from the second, and they couldn’t look any more different if they tried, but they’re both quiet and sensible and both, apparently, are total fantasy nuts, just like Will.

It’s nice to see him talking to someone, and when Sansa volunteers to help him with dinner one night Garlan dares to hope that things might be getting better.

But then Thorn, Marg’s hideous old bag of a cat that she  _insists_  travel everywhere she goes, sits on the remote at precisely the wrong moment, and the sounds of gunfire and shells exploding and civilians screaming echoes out of the house and, by the time Garlan gets into the kitchen, Will’s curled in on himself in the corner beside the sink, too far gone to even make a sound.

Sansa’s crouching near to him - not too near, and leaning against the press so he won’t feel caged in (how does she know to do that?), one hand extended as an offering and the other tucked against her chest.

She murmurs in the softest voice Garlan’s ever heard outside of the military hospital, and eventually Will lifts his head, still too pale with too-wide eyes, his pupils still completely dilated so that the green of his eyes (the main way they’re not identical, that, because Garlan’s eyes are the same hazel as Loras and Marg’s) can’t be seen.

“Want to finish dinner?” Sansa asks, and Garlan half-expects Will to agree but disappear upstairs anyways, but instead he takes Sansa’s hand and accepts his crutch (his hands are shaking so hard Garlan’s amazed he can grip his crutch at all) and levers himself slowly to his feet.

They cook dinner, and nobody makes any move to turn the telly back on, and Marg agrees to keep a better eye on Thorn.

 

* * *

 

Sansa and Will cook dinner every night from then on, until the annual knees-up in town comes - Silvio that owns the biggest pub in the town (village, really) welcomes them with open arms, the same as every year, and has to hug both Will and Garlan twice each because they were away last year.

His daughters, of course, are wheeled out, and Will talks to them in easy Italian (he can’t write it to save his life, but he can speak it no problem) and orders food and drink for everyone with a smile on his face. He can’t drink himself because he’s still on more medication that Garlan can see a point to, but Will is in the best form Garlan’s seen him in in, well, in years, and his smile never falters and the noise doesn’t seem to bother him, maybe because it’s all laughter and chat.

Maybe having Sansa sitting beside him is helping too, if the shy smiles he’s shooting her all night are anything to go on.

Will is better dressed than Garlan remembers him being in ages, too, except for at the funerals - he’s wearing dark jeans, ones Mum bought for him when they came home, and a dark blue shirt and his black waistcoat with the satin back that’s all that remains of his grad ball suit. He was barely leaning on his crutch on the walk down, either, more comfortable on his prosthetic than Garlan has seen him yet.

And then, when they start moving towards the dance floor, Will sets aside his crutch and blushes  _magnificently_  under his beard and asks if Sansa would like to dance with him.

 

* * *

 

August comes quicker than any of them thought it would, and with it comes the real world - Leonette’s going back to college, starting work on her PhD, and Marg is going to be working solid till Christmas and then again till June because she took all her leave in one lump (because they all talked about it and agreed that Will needed them) and they’re all leaving in fits and starts, the younger lot together and Garlan and Leonette hanging on for a few extra days with Will, who doesn’t have anything to go back to, really.

The morning Marg and Loras and their friends are leaving, though, just as they’re climbing into the taxis and Garlan’s standing in the door with Leonette and Will, Sansa darts back and slips something into Will’s pocket and leans up and kisses his cheek, and then she darts back and Will’s smiling, properly smiling for the first time in too long, and Garlan reckons that Marg and Loras bringing their friends was the best idea Mum and Dad had in years.

 

* * *

 

Will spends most of the autumn in the hospital or his shrink’s office or the gym, building back up muscles (physical and mental) that took a battering this past year or so.

Garlan gets back into training, and he gets word that he’ll be shipping out in the middle of January so he proposes to Leonette at the start of December. She says yes, and they have a tiny registry office wedding with just immediate family to watch, but it doesn’t matter because it’s perfect, and because Leonette gets his nightmares even though she shouldn’t have to. 

Marg is working, always working, and Loras is off to this place and that and brings home gold medals every time. 

 

* * *

 

Will builds himself back up slowly. Garlan keeps as careful an eye on him as he can, and he has his spies (Loras and Marg) well placed to help. 

There are fewer flashbacks since the shrink prescribed anti-anxiety meds, Loras reports. He’s got a new prosthetic and he’s much more comfortable on it, Marg texts.

Things aren’t perfect - Garlan comes over to help Mum get the decorations down from the attic and, when a box of baubles falls and spills down the ladder, Will gets so worked up that Mum’s minutes away from sedating him, for example - but they’re a lot better.

“He’s been going out a bit,” Mum confides over hot chocolate once the tree is up and Garlan’s lifted her up to put the angel on top. “With a friend of Margaery’s.”

That catches Garlan’s interest.

“Sansa Stark? He never told me.”

“You aren’t his minder, for all that he’s your shadow,” Mum reminds him firmly. “Yes, pretty girl with red hair - I think he fancies her.”

“Mum!”

“What? I’ve raised four children, one of whom is married - I’m married, for goodness’ sake! I know a thing or two about fancying people, Garlan!”

“Yes, but-“

“Don’t ask him about her,” Mum advises. “You’re about as tactless as your dad when you try to be subtle. If he does fancy her, he’ll come to you.”

 

* * *

 

Will doesn’t come to Garlan, but Garlan goes to Sansa three days before he ships out.

“Look after him?”

Sansa meets his eyes, even though she has to crane her neck right back to do it.

“You’re not the only one who knows what it’s like to have a sibling with PTSD,” she says. “I’ll look after him, don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

Will writes more than anyone else, because he understands how good it is to get letters, to be tied to home.

He never mentions Sansa, but Marg does and, if her letters are anything to go by, the more time Will spends with Sansa, the easier things are.

He goes to college, something neither of them did, and Garlan’s relieved to note how much Will genuinely seems to like it - he always did like school and studying more than Garlan did.

 

* * *

 

Garlan comes home, and while Will is still jittery - Garlan doesn’t think he’ll ever not be, just like he knows his own nightmares will never really go away - he’s better, so much better.

Mum’s birthday is nice, and nobody but Garlan seems surprised when Will takes advantage of the children-plus-plus-ones rule for the first time ever when they go out to dinner.

 

* * *

 

Will’s gotten a running blade somewhere, which makes Garlan laugh because it’s such a Will thing to not be satisfied with cycling and swimming and rowing, and they go running. 

“So, Sansa Stark,” Garlan says when they’re leaning against the railing overlooking the river. “She’s nice.”

Will smiles slightly.

“Subtle,” he mocks, but he’s blushing. “She’s lovely, though. Isn’t she? Lovely?”

“Very,” Garlan agrees. “Not my type, but she’s a nice girl. She’d have to be, to get you to bring her to Mum’s birthday.”

That blush darkens, and Garlan knows he has Will.

“You’re serious about her, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Will admits. “I don’t- Doc Madison said to be careful that it’s not just transferance before I say anything. I don’t think it is, but she says that because Sansa’s been so much help in my learning to manage everything…”

He waves his hands as if to explain, but Garlan understands. Will thinks his shrink is talking through her arse, but he’s too unsure of his mind to take a risk on her being right.

“You do fancy her, though.”

“Think it might be a bit more than that, to be honest.”

Garlan smiles, because for Will to even admit that out loud is a big step forward, and Garlan doesn’t mean with his PTSD.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s good to see you smile,” he says firmly, nudging his shoulder against Will’s with a smile. “Race you back to the car?”

Will’s had time to practice on that damned blade of his, though, and he wins (he was always faster, even though Garlan was stronger), but it’s worth the teasing just to see Will laugh.


End file.
